


Night In

by counting2fifteen



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Bad Cooking, Cuddling & Snuggling, Domestic Fluff, M/M, Making Out, Nail Polish, but very light making out i'm sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-04
Updated: 2020-04-04
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:00:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23479615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/counting2fifteen/pseuds/counting2fifteen
Summary: Phil feels bad after a five second fight with his boyfriend. He is extra soft to make up for it.
Relationships: Dan Howell/Phil Lester
Comments: 10
Kudos: 76
Collections: Phandom Writers Discord 2020 Spring Fic Exchange





	Night In

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kishere](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kishere/gifts).



> here you go, k! This is really soft and gay. Unfortunately it is not ABO. I am sorry. Hopefully the extreme soft gayness makes up for it.

Dan’s nail polish was chipped. It wasn’t really something Phil would normally notice, but he had been making an effort to notice those things more, and he guessed it was paying off.

“Your nail polish is chipped,” he said.

“ _Your_ nail polish is chipped,” Dan immediately shot back, even though Phil was not currently wearing nail polish and, in fact, had never worn nail polish in his life.

“I’m not wearing nail polish,” Phil said mildly.

“Yeah, so shut up about mine,” Dan said.

“I didn’t mean it in, like, a bad way,” Phil reasoned. “I just- noticed, that’s all.”

“Why’d you have to notice so critically?”

“I wasn’t!” Phil insisted. “Really, it’s fine. I just noticed.”

Dan looked at Phil warily. “Good,” he finally said.

“Good,” Phil said, relieved.

It wasn’t a bad fight- by a lot of standards, it wouldn’t even be considered a fight. But Phil felt bad, so he was determined to find a way to make it up to Dan that night. When they cuddled on the couch while watching anime, Phil held him extra tight. He got up to get the remote so Dan wouldn’t have to. He kissed him just a little harder than usual.

If Dan noticed anything, he didn’t say anything, just gave into Phil’s gentle ministrations. He was tired, Phil knew. They both were. 

“How about we just stay in tonight?” Phil asked, tracing a pattern on Dan’s shoulder, as if they didn’t stay in almost every night.

Dan nodded. “Takeout?”

“I thought we might try to cook something. Have a date night kind of thing. You know.”

Dan laughed. “You know how we are at cooking.”

“It’ll be fun,” Phil persuaded. “We can’t eat takeout for the rest of our lives.”

“Bet,” Dan said.

Phil rolled his eyes. “I think we have the stuff for spaghetti.”

“Fine,” Dan said.

Phil stood up from their couch, regretfully untangling his limbs from Dan’s. “Coming?”

Dan pouted, reaching for Phil. “Come back.”

“Come with me,” Phil said.

Dan gave Phil his best puppy dog eyes.

Phil tried really hard to resist. He shut his eyes so he wouldn’t have to see Dan’s pleading face, but Dan wrapped his arms around Phil and tugged him closer.

“Someone’s needy today,” Phil said, but he let Dan pull him in, let him hug his arms around Phil’s waist and rest his head on Phil’s stomach. He stroked Dan’s hair, hugging him back as best he could from his current position, before pulling Dan up. “Get up, we can cuddle and cook at the same time.”

They’ve attempted that before, and it never ended well. But there’s a first time for everything.

Dan grumbled but stood, padding sleepily into the kitchen after Phil. Phil started hunting through their cupboards for a pot. “Can you grab the noodles?”

Dan grumbled some more, but came back from their pantry with a box of angel hair noodles. “Here,” he said, putting them on the counter by the stove. “Anything else?”

Phil had found a pot, filled it with water, and put it on the stove. “Not yet,” he said. “Just waiting for the pot to boil.”

“Perfect,” Dan said, pushing Phil back against the counter and kissing him. 

“Ow,” Phil muttered as his back hit the hard, granite counter.

Dan giggled, grabbing Phil by the hips and boosting him up to the kitchen counter before stepping between his legs. “Better?” he murmured.

“Better,” Phil said breathlessly, tugging him closer and wrapping his legs around Dan’s waist before kissing him. He was interrupted by a hissing sound from the oven.

“Fuck,” Dan said.

“Homophobic,” Phil agreed, regretfully pushing Dan off. He had filled the pot with too much water, and it was starting to overflow as it boiled. “Well, I guess it’s ready for the pasta,” he said.

“Probably,” Dan agreed.

Phil removed a completely arbitrary amount of angel hair spaghetti from the box and dumped it into the pot. “Fuck,” he said. “Do we have any spoons?”

Dan opened their silverware drawer and handed Phil a metal spoon.

Phil looked at Dan.

“What?” Dan said. “It’s a spoon.”

“Dan, you idiot,” Phil said, grabbing a wooden spoon from the same drawer. “You can’t use a metal spoon to stir something in a metal pot.”

Dan blinked. “Oh, that’s why you wanted a spoon?”

“We need to cook more.”

“Or,” Dan suggested. “We could just cook less and then it wouldn’t matter that I don’t know how.”

Phil rolled his eyes, stirring the noodles. “Can you set a timer?”

“How long?”

Phil shrugged. “Check the box.”

Dan checked. “Five minutes,” he said, pulling out his phone to set a timer.

Phil checked the time. That meant dinner should be on their table by seven, which was a very normal time to eat. He was proud of himself.

“Timer set,” Dan said, and immediately went to stand behind Phil. He tugged at Phil’s waist, trying to turn him around.

Phil resisted. “I have to stir the noodles,” he insisted.

Dan sighed, wrapping his arms around Phil’s waist and resting his head on Phil’s shoulder. “I wanna make out though,” he said. Phil could hear the pout in his voice.

“Me too,” Phil admitted, “But if I burn this spaghetti I will never live it down.”

Dan’s hand slipped under his shirt. “I’m the only other person here. I’m not going to judge you.”

“But I’d have to wake up every day and look myself in the mirror and say to myself, ‘I let spaghetti burn because I was too busy making out with my boyfriend to pay attention to it,’ and I don’t think I can live like that.”

“You’re forgetting important information. Your boyfriend is very hot.”

“He is,” Phil agreed.

“Also,” Dan said, turning his head to nip at Phil’s neck. “You could just not look in the mirror.”

Phil laughed, trying to ignore the shudder Dan’s touch sent through his body. “How would I get myself ready?”

“I’d just tell you if it looked good or not.”

Phil laughed again. “Because you’re so reliable about that?”

“Are you insulting my sense of fashion?” If Phil didn’t know Dan so well, he’d say Dan was actually hurt.

“Yes,” Phil deadpanned.

“Oy,” Dan said, stepping back from Phil.

Phil scooped a bit of pasta out of the pot and stared at it. “It looks like it’s done,” he said.

Dan checked the timer. “It only has like thirty seconds left.”

“Perfect,” Phil said. “Can you get me a strainer?”

“Fine,” Dan said, as if Phil had asked him to cut off his own hand to feed to a starving child.

“I appreciate your sacrifice,” Phil said.

Dan returned a few moments later, stomping his feet just the tiniest bit. “It isn’t even possible to burn pasta,” Dan muttered, handing Phil his strainer.

Phil smirked. “Oh, really?” he said. “Because I seem to remember-”

“Oh my god,” Dan said. “That was _one_ time. It wasn’t even your microwave I fucked up.”

Phil laughed. “I’m just saying-”

“Well, stop saying,” Dan said, pouting.

“No,” Phil said. “Go get the spaghetti sauce.”

He was done setting the table by the time Dan got back. Dan sat down across from him, struggling with the spaghetti sauce for a bit before finally wrenching it open. “There you go,” he said.

Phil handed a serving spoon to Dan, who started to scoop the sauce from the can onto their plates. “I’m proud of us,” he said. “We cooked an entire meal.”

“ _I_ cooked an entire meal,” Phil said. “ _You_ tried to make out with me while I cooked an entire meal.”

Dan blushed. “Hey.”

“Am I wrong?”

Dan looked slightly wounded. “I _helped_ ,” he said. “I got you the spoon and the strainer, Phil, I _opened the spaghetti sauce_.”

Phil just rolled his eyes.

After their meal, Dan started to clean up their plates, but Phil stood up. “I’ll be right back,” he said. He ducked inside their bathroom, opening the cabinet and looking at their bottles of nail polish. His eyes skipped past the black and glittery gold Dan normally went for. He grabbed a bottle of blue, for no reason other than it was bright and pretty and if Phil was going to paint his nails they were going to be bright and pretty, goddamnit. He also grabbed a pack of nail polish remover wipes so Dan could take off his old black polish before repainting, and then he headed back to their kitchen.

“Here you go,” he said, handing the wipes to Dan.

Dan looked up in surprise. “Nail polish?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Phil said. “I thought we could paint our nails together.”

“You never paint your nails,” Dan said.

“Well, there’s a first time for everything,” Phil said.

Dan shrugged. “Okay, then.” He led Phil to their living room, sat down, and patted the seat on the sofa next to him. “I’ll do you first.”

Phil smirked.

Dan rolled his eyes. “Shut up, rat.” He unscrewed the cap of the nail polish, took Phil’s hand in his, and started painting with slow, careful strokes. When he was finished, he gingerly set Phil’s hand down. “Don’t touch anything,” he said, picking up Phil’s other hand.

“I would never,” Phil said. 

Dan just rolled his eyes. “I mean it,” he said. “I don’t want you to get it all over the place.”

“I won’t,” Phil insisted.

“Uh huh,” Dan said, sitting back, his work done. “The polish shouldn’t take too long to dry. Just give it a few minutes.” A smirk tugged at the corners of his lips. “What should we do in the meantime?”

“Put on a show or something,” Phil suggested.

“I think I’d rather not,” Dan breathed, surging forward, kissing Phil, sliding his hands into his hair.

“Hey,” Phil whined when Dan pulled away, “Not fair.”

Dan leaned back in, kissing him harder. “Why not?” he whispered.

Phil pressed his hands firmly into his jeans, doing his best not to move them. “Wanna touch you,” he said, pouting. “Please.”

Dan sat back. “Give me your hands,” he said. Phil did. Dan poked at Phil’s nails until he was satisfied that they were dry. “There,” Dan said, satisfied. He handed Phil the bottle of nail polish. “Your turn.”

Phil sputtered.

“What?” Dan asked innocently.

“I hate you,” Phil said quietly.

“I know,” Dan said. “Now paint my nails.” He was already wiping them down to remove the black polish. He finished scarily quickly.

Phil did his best, painting them and then trying to wipe off the excess globs of nail polish that were running down Dan’s fingers. It was difficult when Dan couldn’t stop laughing no matter how hard he tried to stay still, body shaking, hands curling around Phil’s.

“You’re so fucking bad at this,” he said, still shaking. “Oh my _god_ , Phil-”

“Shut _up_ ,” Phil said, also giggling. “I’m trying, okay?”

“Try harder,” Dan said.

“Harder?” Phil smirked.

Dan stared at him.

Phil smirked.

“If my nails weren’t still wet I’d fucking slap you,” Dan said.

“To be fair,” Phil said, “I’m not sure why you won’t. Are you worried that you’ll mess them up?”

“I still have hope,” Dan said, snatching the bottle of nail polish away from Phil. He wiped his nails down with a tissue and started painting them again, using quick, broad strokes. He finished in a fraction of the time it had taken Phil, and when he finished, he blew on them in satisfaction. “There we go.”

They still weren’t perfect- Dan had gotten a few bits of paint on his fingers, and he’d missed a spot or two- but Phil had to admit they looked a lot better than they had when he tried. “There we go,” he repeated.

“Oh, shut up,” Dan said fondly. “You didn’t do anything.”

Phil pouted. “I did some things.”

Dan snorted. “Like what?”

“I got the nail polish out.”

Dan rolled his eyes.

“I made dinner.”

“I helped,” Dan insisted.

“You distracted me.”

“You liked it.”

Phil rolled his eyes. “Maybe.”

Dan wiggled his eyebrows. “Maybe? Just maybe?”

“Just maybe,” Phil confirmed.

“So you don’t want me to do it again?” Dan’s eyes glimmered with mischief.

Phil groaned. “Shut _up_.”

Dan smirked. “Make me.”

So Phil did.

**Author's Note:**

> [like/reblog on tumblr](https://counting2fifteen.tumblr.com/post/614572298635264000/night-in) if you'd like


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